Can I please get a tattoo?
I wanted to get one on my 18th birthday, May 15th.
But sadly, I’ll be sitting through honors night that evening.
I really really want one.
My best friend is a tattoo artist
I wish someone would listen to me. I seriously have one foot off the ledge.
God I am fucking hurting.
And I’m sitting here with the following thoughts:
- Why did you have to be such an ass? I wish everyone knew what you really did.
- Who in the world am I going to go with?
- I want a boyfriend.
Bring a twenty-something alcoholic musician. Who programs computers
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I’m surrounded by normal people. The ridiculously shallow, pretentious martyrs that I used to be surrounded by are gone. Thank Satan.
I already forget how I used to feel about you.
There’s too many moons and I’m but one man. You know I like to get lost without you and return with dirty thoughts about you. Don’t wait up I’m not coming home until my insides hit the floor. Bonne nuit, martyr. There’s so many moons and you’re paralyzed with fear
You said you hate my suffering And you understood And you’d take care of me You’d always be there Well where are you now?
